


All That's Past

by iopeneditbeforechristmas



Series: all aboard the angst train [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, F/M, So much angst, post-volume three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6302677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iopeneditbeforechristmas/pseuds/iopeneditbeforechristmas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Very old are we men;</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Our dreams are tales</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Told in dim Eden</i>
  <br/>
  <i>By Eve's nightingales;</i>
  <br/>
  <i>We wake and whisper awhile,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>But, the day gone by,</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Silence and sleep like fields</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Of amaranth lie.</i>
</p><p> </p><p><i>Alternatively summarised:</i><br/>She doesn't remember until it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That's Past

**Author's Note:**

> I hate myself for writing this but at the same time I'm a slut for angst. So here, have this semi-arkos stuff. Also yes, the poem stuff is very pretentious, but I think poems/songs might become a sort of theme for this series and I like the poem (All That's Past, by Walter de la Mare), so I went with it anyway.

Pyrrha wakes up in darkness. At first it feels like she’s floating, but that’s not it. It’s more like she just isn’t there, or rather; there’s nowhere for her to be. She isn’t floating, because there is nothing to float _in,_ and she isn’t falling, because there is nowhere to fall from or through or to. It’s more like…she’s just somewhere that doesn’t exist.

Pyrrha is the only thing in the entire world. She doesn’t really mind.

She lies there for a while, drifting through the nothingness. It’s nice. She has a feeling she should be missing something, but she can’t really remember what it is; she has a name, she just doesn’t really remember what it says about her anymore. She’s a person, she just doesn’t really remember who that person is. But the strange feeling of peace she’s felt since waking up continues, and Pyrrha doesn’t waste much time over being unable to feel anything else.

Not that time seems to be in any short supply. Or maybe it is. Maybe when she says that this place, wherever it is, feels timeless, that meant it actually is. Time is perhaps a concept which has just never existed here, and never will. Though it feels different more like…he isn’t _welcome_ here. This is somewhere where time and space will never return.

Pyrrha doesn’t know how she knows time is a ‘he’. She just does. It feels like one of the things you just end up knowing after you die.

The realisation that she’s _dead_ , and that that’s why she’s here hits Pyrrha like a punch to the gut. She imagines herself absorbing it, reacting just as she’s always been taught. Muscle memory doesn’t end when one dies, apparently. Which means two things; one, Pyrrha used to fight, and two, she definitely had a life to not remember.

She’s also, apparently, dead. It should probably affect her more.

 Pyrrha spends another large amount of not-time doing whatever one does when there’s nowhere to do it before things come back to her. It’s voices and feelings more than anything. A man; _‘Get to the pods!’_   before _‘We do nothing. You, Miss Nikos, have a choice to make,’_ and _‘Are you ready?’_ and _‘I need to hear you say it,’_ and then, _‘Thank you, Miss Nikos.’_

Even worse is the feeling that comes next. The feeling of having someone else, their life, their aura, their entire being, shoved into her, filling up corners she didn’t even know she had, burning up her insides. Just the memory of the pain is enough to make her scream into the void. There’s the voices, too, yelling ‘ _Pyrrha!’, ‘PYRRHA!’_ and they cut just as much, maybe even more, because she knows that it’s her fault they’re screaming like that. That she’s done this to them. There’s apologies in there too, in the same voices as before but not so many words, a million things never said but always meant.

She doesn’t want to remember if it’s going to hurt so much.

* * *

 

Somewhere else, somewhere that exists and has times to sleep past, Jaune Arc wakes up. He’s cold and wet, and the general discomfort isn’t being helped by someone poking him in the side.

“Noraaaa,” he groans, “Please stop poking me.”

Nora laughs. Jaune tries not to notice how much thinner it is, how it’s now light as opposed to rich, soft instead of lively. It’d be a nice laugh, if it wasn’t on someone who was supposed to be so much _more._

“Come on Jaune!” Nora says. “We’re almost there!”

“Actually,” says Ren, “We have accomplished roughly twenty percent of the intended journey.”

“Oh come on Ren!” Nora grins. “Don’t be such a downer! We’ve done ten percent already, so we’ve started, _sooo_ we’re almost there!”

“Nora, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Sure it is! Almost just means…will be there soon. So we’ll be there soon!”

“It’s taken us three days to get this far. At this rate that’s almost another month.”

“See, almost! That month will go by pretty fast, apparently.”

“That _definitely_ isn’t how it works.”

Jaune blocks out their nattering in favour of actually getting ready, propping himself up on one elbow and rooting around for his armour. Ruby said he should keep it on while sleeping, but she doesn’t wear any armour anyway. She doesn’t know how hard it is to lie comfortably on a breastplate.

Once he’s managed to find all his clothes and put them on the right places, Jaune gets up to try and find their auspicious leader.

Ruby Rose is the youngest student to ever be accepted into Beacon Academy, a strong leader, good friend and a gifted huntress in her own right. Jaune remembers her as a plucky, extremely awkward but nonetheless kind-hearted girl. Nice, funny, excitable, if a little obsessed with weapons. Always happy, always optimistic no matter how dark the situation.

She hasn’t smiled since they left her mother’s grave. She tries, Jaune can see, but it’s not the same. Ruby’s shown him a lot of smiles over the past year, but none of the one’s she’s putting on now count as _smiles._ It would definitely not be out of place to call them grimaces. It’s affecting all of them, too, not just Jaune; he’s trying to play the loveable idiot, because that’s what he does, and Nora’s putting up a front, because that’s how she works, and Ren’s staying silent, because that’s who he is, but none of them have been the same since Pyrrha died and they need Ruby to tell them that everything will be okay, they have a plan and it’s going to work out. Because without her none of them have the faintest idea what they’re doing.

“Ruby,” Jaune starts.

“Jaune,” she says softly, turning around. There’s…well, it’s definitely something, plastered on her face, but it’s not working. She’s trying, but it’s not working. Somehow that makes it even worse. Like she hasn’t gone off the deep end completely, like there’s still the same Ruby they know and love, deep down, who wants to smile and be happy and positive like she should be, but it’s physically impossible for her to succeed. Jaune thinks he preferred it when he thought she wasn’t even trying to care.

“Uh…we’re all ready now. Kinda. I think so.”

“Great! Let’s go!”

It’s not right, the way she says it. Nothing’s been right, not since the battle. RWBY split up, a quarter of JNPR dead, Beacon destroyed, Ozpin missing…nothing makes sense. They’ve still got no idea what’s going on and there’s nobody to tell them, and there’s not a moment where Jaune doesn’t wish things could go back to how they were before.

Ruby gets up from where she’s been sitting, slightly apart from the rest of them – god, why does she _do_ that? – and walks over to pack up her things. Silent, almost grey in the way a part of her seems to be somewhere else. Jaune, Nora and Ren do the same. None of them talk.

“So where to know, boss?” Nora asks, slinging an arm around Ruby’s shoulders.

“Mistral. If we walk quickly we should make it in about a month. I mean, we’ll have to plan for like Grimm attacks and stuff but we’re all able to take them out, right?”

 “Sure we can!” Nora smirks, hefting her hammer over her shoulder, but the smile is too small, drops too quickly. Ren moves to her side, puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes. She looks up and him and smiles, properly this time.

There’s a familiar pang in Jaune’s chest, an aching hole that he knows can never, _ever_ be filled, not anymore. He looks at Ruby, and it’s heartbreakingly obvious that she’s feeling the same way.

He should probably talk to her about it or something. But that would involve, well, talking. About emotions and stuff. Neither of which have ever been one of Jaune’s particularly strong points. After all, look how long he messed up that whole business with Weiss, and as a result how long he spent _agonising_ over Pyrrha…

“Hey, Ruby.”

“Oh, hey Jaune!”

“Hey. Er…do you miss them? Yang and Blake and Weiss and everyone?”

“Yeah, of course I do Jaune! Don’t be silly! But at least I know they’re…I know they’re safe and…they’re…”

“It’s okay to miss them, you know.”

“I know. It’s just…it’s my fault. I wasn’t there. I’m their leader, I’m _supposed_ to be there, I’m the one who’s meant to keep them all together! And I couldn’t even do that! Weiss’s father came and took her away and Blake left because she thought it was her fault even though it’s mine and Yang…” Ruby trails off, before saying in a small voice, “Yang’s never going to be same again.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jaune says, just as quietly. He can’t quite bring himself to look at Ruby’s face. “Don’t spend energy beating yourself up about it; it’s like you said to – like you said to Pyrrha. About – about Penny. It wasn’t her fault. Just like it’s not yours. And we going to find whoever’s fault and we’re…we’re going to make them pay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re going to make them _fucking_ pay.”

* * *

 

Pyrrha's wish seems to have been granted. There’s still some memories, these small flashes of recollection that take her by surprise even though they’ve become like old friends, phrases going through her head over and over again, but she hasn’t actually _remembered_. Every time they hit she goes all shaky, nausea rushing through her and making her knees weak. She _devours_ them, eating them up hungrily, obsessing over each and every small detail, but at the same time she dreads the tell-tale jolts of knowing something’s missing, because that’s just it…something _is_ missing, and sometimes Phyrra can forget and drift back into the nothingness, but whenever the memories turn up she’s reminded – ha! – of how that’s never going to change anything.

_“You, Miss Nikos, have a choice to make.”_

_“I’m…so sorry.”_

_“…a choice to make...”_

_“Pyrrha!_

_“…a choice…”_

_“PYRRHA!”_

It feels like an eternity before something – someone, in fact – offers her a way out of it.

It’s like a ribbon, black and endless, stretching away into darkness. Pyrrha doesn’t know how she can see it if everything around her is dark anyway, but the black trail makes her realise that it isn’t exactly darkness that she’s in. It’s not a colour; it’s not even black, because black is shadows, it’s the absence of light. This is nothing like that; it’s a blacker black than Pyrrha's ever known, because it’s not even that. It’s not even darkness. It’s just nothing.

She follows the ribbon, hungrily, pulling her way through nowhere until she thinks – thinks, but is it real, or is it just a hallucination, like a mirage in the desert – thinks she sees _light._ Something, anyway. She runs and runs and runs, forgetting even the pathetic existence that, really, and this is the depressing part, is all she’s ever known. Pyrrha runs, until she’s bursting through what feels like a wall and at the same time the exact opposite, screaming and gritting her teeth until she’s falling – falling, actually falling, she’s _somewhere,_ there’s somewhere for her to fall!

It takes her a few seconds before she realises that just because it means she’s actually getting somewhere, doesn’t mean that falling there is the best way to go about it.

Those few seconds are enough to remove any chance of preparing for an actual landing, and instead she’s dumped unceremoniously on what feels like earth, hard-baked, cracked and bled dry. Pyrrha groans. She curls up in on herself, feeling the strange smoothness of the ground. No matter how much she just _knows_ it’s earth, that it should be dry and rough and coarse, it feels strangely smooth underfoot. Like it’s not even there.

Pyrrha's in no shape to contemplate the mechanics of whatever material she’s lying on, though. Her entire body feels like it’s had a run-in with more than one Nevermore.

That’s an interesting word. Nevermore. Pyrrha allows herself to fan the small flame of hope she’s kept subdued inside her ever since waking up. Perhaps now she’ll start to remember better. She crosses her fingers, because why not?

“Miss Nikos,” says a voice, and suddenly Pyrrha finds herself feeling a lot less hopeful. It’s _cold._ As smooth as whatever it is she’s lying on, but barbed, too. It’s a voice like a snake’s skin.

“Ngh,” Pyrrha grunts, pulling herself into a sitting position. That’s a start, anyway. She looks up, into the strange white face of a woman she knows, with absolute certainty, she has never met before in her life. White is the right word for it, too. Pyrrha knows pale; she herself is, she can see it now, but she knows instinctively that pale is not the exact same shade this woman’s voice would be, if it felt cold as well as sounded it. This is a face that, when called white as snow, is exactly what it sounds like.

This woman, Pyrrha knows, is not something whoever she was before is used to. Her hair is just as white as her face, gathered up into a bun and strange sticks at the back of her head. There’s black lines, like cracks, flowing up her cheeks and above her eyes, and she has a black diamond right in the middle of her forehead. Her eyes are the strangest thing, though. They’re black as well, mostly. But that’s not it.

The pupils glow a bright, brilliant red. Almost ruby, really.

* * *

 

Jaune is tired.

They’ve been walking for days now, on top of all the days they’ve walked before that, and he’s starting to get fed up. Sparring with – sparring with Pyrrha had trained him up a bit, but still not enough that he can spend days on end trudging over a grim wasteland without getting even the tiniest bit tired. He’s also bored. That’s not really helping.

Nora talked for a bit when they were starting, Ren offering one-word replies that didn’t deter her in the least, Jaune chipping in whenever he felt he had something relevant – and in some cases not at all relevant – to say. Ruby occasionally murmured in a sort of agreeing way whenever she, well, agreed, like she wanted to get involved but didn’t think she should.

“How much longer?” Jaune moans. He’s been moaning a lot, lately. He wouldn’t, but it’s something he feels like he should keep up, for their sakes if nothing else. Gives everyone something to take their mind off things, no matter how useless and irritating a distraction it may really be.

Ren and Nora both mutter some kind of agreement.

“Come on guys, keep going!” Ruby tries. “If we keep going like this it’ll be, I dunno, maybe another five days or so until we reach the coast?”

“Mightn’t it be wise to stop for a bit?” Ren says. Everyone turns to look at him, even Ruby. It’s rare to see Ren disagreeing with anyone. Voicing his disagreement anyway. “We’ve been travelling for a while, and these parts aren’t exactly Grimm-free. We don’t know when we could run into something we can’t handle, and we have no idea what we’ll face when we arrive at Mistral. It would be prudent to rest for longer than we are right now.”

Ruby’s face falls even further than it already is. “I know you’re tired, guys, but come on, we can still-”

She’s cut off by a growl. They all turn around in slow motion, staring into the face of at least four pairs of glowing red eyes.

“Ren,” Nora says, “You jinxed it!”

“ _Nora!”_ Ren protests. “That wasn’t _my_ fault!”

“You were the one who brought Grimm up, and now look where we are!”

“Just because I pointed out that we should be resting more doesn’t mean I magically brought the Grimm here! If anything this proves my point!”

“Guys!” Ruby yells. “Stop fighting. We need to stay focused. Nora, you try and-”

And that’s when the Ursae hit them with everything they’ve got.

Jaune’s thrown backwards into a tree with the full force of a speeding truck. He slumps there, head spinning, before realising there’s a paw the size of a dustbin lid heading straight for his throat.

He ducks, rolling underneath the Ursa’s legs. You can do this _,_ he tells himself, you know you can, just remember everything she taught you and you’ll be fine. Keep on your toes, knees bent, stay on-balance…

Another paw, or possibly the same one, he isn’t really keeping track, comes slicing towards him, and he throws himself away, rolls and comes up on his feet, still balanced, sword and shield both at the ready. If this was training with Pyrrha he’d shout, be overjoyed at actually doing the move properly. He’d do that and then she’d have him on his back in two seconds, but they’d both be laughing, enjoying themselves, being kids like they were supposed to.

But Pyrrha isn’t here anymore. It’s just Jaune, on his own, and it’s time he started acting like it.

Really, this would be the point where he does something dramatic and epic that looks really awesome, defeating all the Ursae and earning the undying respect of his teammates.

In reality, he does what he’s always done. He closes his eyes, yells, and slashes at all and every vaguely Ursa shaped thing in the vicinity. Ruby, Ren and Nora are all making similar but probably more badass noises around him, but Jaune keeps his eyes squeezed tight shut until everything seems to die down.

When he opens them, there’s a pile of dead Ursae and a man in a tattered red cloak in front of him. The man’s poking at one of the decomposing Ursa corpses with a nonchalant pointed boot and taking a swig out of the flask at his hip. He shoves the handle of his scythe into the ground, before glaring at the four of them. He looks familiar, but Jaune can’t place where from.

“Uhh…” Jaune begins. Ren and Nora seem to be in similar states of confusion. Ruby, on the other hand, looks the best Jaune’s seen her in…well, _weeks._

“Uncle Qrow!” she says, and she’s wearing a real smile this time. Ah. That must be it; the scythe, the inverted colour scheme, the red cape. He just hopes the hip flask isn’t going to become a signature feature of Ruby’s look in later years.

“Hey, kid,” the man says, ruffling her hair. He reeks of alcohol. Jaune has to stop himself from wrinkling his nose.

“Ruby?” he asks slowly. “Do you…know this guy?”

“Yeah! This is my Uncle Qrow!”

“Oh. Uh, right. Hi?”

“Hi,” Qrow says, without smiling. “Who’re you?”

“Uh, Jaune. Sir. Jaune Arc.”

“Well, Jaune Arc, you’re probably the shittiest with a sword I’ve ever seen. And I have seen _very_ shitty. I teach ten-year-olds.”

“Oh.”

“Uncle Qrow!” cries Ruby, with a slightly apologetic glance in Jaune’s direction. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your asses, of course. Someone’s got to.”

“But how did you know we needed it?”

Qrow shrugs, grinning at Ruby. “I have my ways. And someone also needs to tell you that your ninja friend here is right. You _need_ to rest more. I know you want to get…wherever it is you’re going, but you need _rest_ too. The four of you? After what you lot have faced already, you should be able to take four Ursae with absolutely no problem. Today? If I hadn’t shown up you’d all be dead. So _rest,_ kiddo. You have time.”

“But we don’t have time!” protests Ruby. “We need to-”

It occurs to Jaune that none of them have actually told any vaguely responsibly adults where they’re going. Perhaps if things were different they might have talked to Ozpin about it, or at least asked Professor Goodwitch what she thought. But Ozpin’s gone and last Jaune saw Goodwitch is working with Professor Port and Professor – _Doctor,_ Jaune reminds himself – Oobleck, doing everything they can to try and rebuild Vale. He doesn’t think they’ve gotten very far since he left with Ruby, Nora and Ren.

Qrow, too, seems to know that the four of them are doing something they possibly shouldn’t be. “Need to what?” he says drily, raising an eyebrow.

Ruby opens and closes her mouth. Nora is suddenly very interested in the rapidly evaporating Ursa corpse beside her. Ren is suddenly very interested in Nora.

“We’re going to visit Pyrrha's family,” Jaune says quietly. All heads in the conversation turn to look at him. “We…we know they’ve been told already, but there wasn’t any time to, you know, tell them properly. About her. She…she would’ve wanted that.”

He gulps. It’s still so hard even thinking about her, and they’ve all completely avoided talking about her. By some unspoken agreement they’ll mention Weiss and Blake and Sun and Neptune and Coco and Velvet and the rest and hope they’re okay, and they’ll say they’re sure Yang will be back on her feet soon, even though the topic makes Ruby even more withdrawn than usual, and sometimes they’ll even talk about burying Penny properly or something, but they never mention Pyrrha. Jaune doesn’t know why; maybe it’s because Pyrrha was the best of them, the unbeatable, their greatest warrior, and she was killed just like so many others. Maybe it’s because they can’t bring themselves to believe that someone like her, someone so _strong_ could be killed no matter how hard she tried. Maybe it’s because they know it means what they face in Mistral, whatever it is, will be stronger and better than all of them, and that no matter how brave they talk they have no idea what they’re going to do when they get there.

Qrow’s eyebrow remains raised. “And you all thought the best way to do that was to tramp across miles of Grimm-infested countryside?”

“Weeell…” says Ruby, pressing her fingers together and looking down. “When you put it like that…”

“We didn’t want to cause any extra trouble,” Ren says. “We know there are hundreds of refugees trying to get out of Vale; we didn’t think using up what little ships there are was the best decision. There are those who need it more.”

“You’re not wrong,” sighs Qrow, running a hand through his hair. “But if you think you’re up to fighting your way through Grimm country you’d better act like it. _Frequent_ rest stops, keep your energy up, okay? You can’t fight if all you want to do is drop dead on your feet.”

Ren gives Ruby a look that is so full of ‘I told you so’ Jaune can’t believe he forget how much of a _mum_ Ren can be. Ruby sighs.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I just wanted to get there! I wanted to…I wanted to say sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, kid,” Qrow says softly, running long fingers through Ruby’s hair again. “They’ll know that.”

“I…yeah, I guess. Thanks, Uncle Qrow.”

“Yeah, well,” drawls Qrow, louder, “Can’t rely on me forever. Gotta stand on your own two feet. Or eight feet.” He laughs, and Jaune wonders whether the smell he got a whiff of earlier was a hangover or whether Qrow’s actually still drunk. Whatever it is, his laugh’s a harsh sound with no enjoyment in it. It reminds Jaune of Ruby’s smiles these days, and hopes with everything he has that this, this sarcasm and alcohol and cold, bitter, empty laughter, won’t be Ruby in fifteen years’ time.

“We’ll be more careful this time,” Ren assures Qrow. “Thank you for your help, sir.”

Qrow waves his thanks away. “Just remember what I said. And good luck; from the looks of things, you’ll need it.”

“Bye, Uncle Qrow,” Ruby says, waving. “Thank you.”

“See you around, kid,” Qrow shrugs. He turns around, hefting his scythe over one shoulder and melting into the shadows. Jaune blinks. It’s like one minute Qrow was walking back into the trees and the next he just wasn’t there.

Ruby notices him staring. “Don’t question it,” she tells him, “He’s like that.”

Jaune busies himself instead with folding up his shield and repacking the contents of his pack, which had ended up strewn all around the tree he’d been thrown into. Once he’s fulling packed-up and ready to go, as are the others, they all look to Ruby.

“I’m sorry, guys,” she says. “I just…I wanted to _get_ there. I wanted answers. And I didn’t think about the rest of you, or me. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, silly,” Nora laughs in her characteristic way of shoving everything bad that’s happened away. Not acting like it hasn’t happened, but saying that it has and she knows and it doesn’t matter. Sometimes Jaune wonders what they all did to deserve her. “We wanted to get there too! And anyway, I don’t think any of us want to stay _here,_ it’s filled with loads of decomposing Grimm corpses and stuff. We should go on for a bit and then stop. Then we can start going again!”

Ruby nods. “Okay. Okay! Come on, guys.”

The four start up again, trudging onwards with the same bleak determination they’d set out with. But this time, and maybe it’s just Jaune, but this time there’s something more. A sort of warmth, something telling them that they’re not completely along against the world. This might be something they have to do, but if they needed to they wouldn’t have to do it alone.

It’s not even Qrow, because Jaune knows that Qrow isn’t going to drop everything to join their merry little band of adventurers. But it’s brought the world closer, so that it’s not just them and the forest and whatever’s waiting for them on the other side. It’s reminded them that there’s more, there’s Vale and Beacon, no matter what state they may be in, there’s their teachers and friends, all trying their hardest to do what they need to do.

After all, Jaune thinks, it’s not what they want to do. It’s what they _need_ to do. He doesn’t want to spend weeks on end trekking through a forest where every minute could mean an attack by vicious beasts, and possibly death. He doesn’t want to hunt down an enemy so strong they could cripple an entire city and kill or get rid of some of the most powerful fighters Jaune’s ever seen. He doesn’t want to fight. But he has to. It’s not about revenge anymore, not even that. It’s about everyone else who needs protecting, about a darkness too large to be ignored. Huntsmen protect those who cannot protect themselves. So maybe Jaune doesn’t want to head out to possible death, but he has to.

That’s another thing meeting Qrow’s reminded them about; it’s not just about them anymore. It never has been.

* * *

 

Pyrrha looks into the pale woman’s face, and she’s reminded of something. Of _someone._ The memories hit her again, but this time they’re new – it’s always worse when they’re new – and she doubles over, retching.

_“Do you believe in destiny?”_

_“Yes.”_

And that’s it. When Pyrrha opens her eyes, she’s looking into the woman’s eyes. So _red,_ but without even a shred of warmth. That doesn’t seem right. Red should be _warm,_ it should be a shield and spear and hot chocolate and pyjamas with wolves on them. Pyrrha doesn’t know why she thinks this, she just does. She just knows.

“Miss Nikos,” the woman says for the second time. Pyrrha grunts again, pulling herself up into something that could vaguely resemble sitting, if one was feeling generous.

“Who…” she gasps. “Who are you?”

“My name is Salem. We haven’t met.”

“Oh.” Pyrrha says. She could have figured that one out for herself. “Where am I?”

“Somewhere else. That is all you need to know. I was wondering, however, if I could ask for your help.”

“My…help?”

“Yes. Do you remember how you died?”

“I – only snatches. There was…there was a choice I had to make and…and it went wrong, and then I was – then I – I made another one? And I…it hurt someone. Someone important. But I had to do it, I think. I died, but…I think it was an important choice. I think I did the right thing.”

“Yes,” Salem murmurs, “I think you did. I think you and you friends were some of the only ones who did.”

“My…friends?”

Pyrrha thinks of screams, of _‘Pyrrha!’, ‘PYRRHA!’_ and wonders what Salem means. Wonders _who_ she means.

“Yes,” Salem says again. “You and your friends all fought valiantly, of course. You made a great effort. It’s just such a shame you failed.”

“What do you mean?” Pyrrha asks, and she feels like she’s made of water, like she could collapse any minute.

“My dear Miss Nikos,” says Salem, and Pyrrha remembers _‘You, Miss Nikos, have a choice to make,’_ and feels sick. “I don’t want to have to tell you this. But your friends are dead. You fought for a man so full of arrogance he couldn’t see his plan to save the world was the very thing tearing it apart, and you failed. There are still humans, like yourself, trying to bring the world back together again, but they too will fail.”

Pyrrha suddenly feels very small, like she’s a child again and she wishes she was, wishes that the scariest thing she had to face was the bogeyman in her wardrobe and if she called loud enough her parents would be there, just like that, just like they were supposed to be.

But she isn’t a child anymore, and she hasn’t been for a while. Her friends are dead, her world is dying, and the only thing left for her appears to be a woman with ice-cold red eyes and a snake’s voice.

“But if I’m here,” Pyrrha begins, “Why can’t-”

“Why can’t we find your friends as well?” Salem finishes for her. “My dear, it’s quite simple. Your friends were slaughtered. Massacred by the Grimm. Their deaths were sloppy, and messy, and painful, and they were torn apart as they went. You, on the other hand, were killed by a _person._ Someone, in fact, whom I ordered to kill you.”

Pyrrha opens her mouth to speak, but stops when Salem holds up a hand, saying, “No, don’t say anything. I know how it sounds. But believe me, this was the best way. You were being manipulated into giving your life for a cause to which you owed nothing. Your death was going to be pointless, meaningless, destruction at the hands of the Grimm. The only way to save you was to instruct my… _associate,_ to kill you in such a way as you would be able to come back, here, and help me.”

“Oh,” says Pyrrha. She can’t really think of anything else to say. The dangers of trusting this woman are ringing loud and clear, especially when she feels so…so _wrong,_ so cold and slippery. But what if she’s right? What if she’s right and she’s saved Pyrrha, and then Pyrrha betrays her, does nothing?

“What do you want me to do?” she asks, finally.

Salem smiles. It is not a nice smile. “I’m glad you asked. There are some…unexpected variables in action in Remnant. My allies are attempting to fix everything that went wrong, but there are still those who would oppose us. Those trying to cause havoc. In fact, there are four, most of them close to you in age and skill level, who are pursuing a colleague of mine with the goal of stopping her try and bring order to Mistral.”

Mistral. Pyrrha rolls the word around on her tongue. It tastes like home.

“Okay,” she says, staring Salem in the eye and getting to her feet. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

Salem waves her hand and suddenly there’s a shield and spear in her hands, glistening gold. Pyrrha looks at them. It’s like they’re calling to her, and as soon as she takes them from Salem she feels stronger. Ready to take on the world.

* * *

 

Eventually, they reach a small clearing in the forest, one that seems slightly more peaceful than the rest of the dense woodland they’ve been passing through all day. It always pays to go by instinct when travelling outside the kingdoms, Jaune’s learned. Out here, it’s lore rather than law, and the forest knows the lore better than anyone that’s ever passed through it. If somewhere feels grim, there’s likely to be Grimm, and if somewhere feels calm, the chances of being jumped by a bunch of Beowolves have significantly decreased.

“We should rest here,” Ren says to nods all round. Without a word he unloads his pack and busies himself with a fire. Nora puts her backpack down too and goes to help him. Now that they’ve stopped, Jaune decides he might as well ask Ruby something that’s been worrying him ever since the Ursa attack.

“Hey, Ruby?” he says, tentatively.

“Mm?” she replies. “What is it, Jaune?”

“Well…how do you think your uncle found us? You didn’t tell him you were going, did you?”

She shakes her head. “I left a note for my dad, and I’m pretty sure he showed that to Qrow, but all it said was that there was something I needed to do, I knew what I was doing and not to worry about me.”

“Oh. So we could have been anywhere for him. But he said he’d heard what Ren said about stopping more often, so he must have been following us or something.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jaune,” Ruby says, smiling slightly. “Uncle Qrow takes loads of really dangerous missions outside the kingdoms and stuff, he was probably just saw us in the area and wondered what we were doing.”

“So he followed us.”

“Yeahhh…I can see him doing that.”

“Ah. Okay.”

“Yeah.”

Ren and Nora take that moment to arrive with a bundle of firewood. Nora spends two minutes arguing with a match before throwing the entire box into the air in frustration.

“ _Nora!”_ Ren says, painstakingly picking up every little piece of wood. “We _need_ those.”

“We need something better!” Nora exclaims. “Something stronger!” She sighs wistfully. “If only Yang was here, she could light them immediately with her gauntlet…gun…things.”

Nora goes silent, realising what she’s said. They all very resolutely don’t look at Ruby.

After a minute, Nora says something again. Jaune’s about to stop her before she puts her foot in it for the millionth time since they set out, but that would be cruel. You can’t stop Nora from saying things like that; it’s just who she is. She thinks of everybody, and won’t say anything different just because they aren’t here right now. He likes that about her, she thinks. She doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s just a different type of bravery.

“Hey…guys,” Nora says. “Uhh…do you think we should? Go visit Pyrrha's family. I mean, we didn’t plan on it but we are going to Mistral and it would be nice, wouldn’t it? To do all that stuff Jaune said, like, tell them about her.”

“I don’t know whether they’d want to hear how their daughter died, Nora,” Ren points out.

“No,” says Ruby. “Nora’s right. They deserve to know. It’s always better to know, I think. Instead of just getting the news that someone’s gone. They don’t even have a body; they deserve to at least know what she did. But hey!” she says, brightening up. “We don’t have to tell them just the bad bits! We can tell her about all the good stuff as well, can’t we?”

“Like the food fight!” Nora grins. “And how we fought valiantly to defend our bench-fort in the wake of the dastardly and villainous attack by team RWBY!”

“Or the time Jaune went to the ball in a dress because Pyrrha didn’t have a date,” Ruby says.

“Exactly!” Nora continues. “Or how-”

She’s cut off by a noise from the trees. They’re all on their feet immediately, weapons drawn. Instinctively, like a real team and not one cobbled together from the remainders of their friends, they draw into a circle, scythes and hammers and swords and pistol-sickle-things at the ready.

“It sounds…weird,” Nora whispers.

“Nora! Ssh!”

“Sorry Ren.”

Nora’s right though; it does sound weird. Jaune strains his ears to listen, but it sounds like…actually it doesn’t. There’s no sound; or rather, it’s like all the sound in the area has been pulled into some kind of vacuum. Through the thick undergrowth he can see a sort of portal, deep red and black, pulsing with a strange, malevolent energy.

And then the portal spits someone out, someone all too familiar, someone glittering red and gold. But this time she’s different. Pyrrha's standing in front of Jaune and it’s all he’s ever wanted since the battle, but she’s different. Her skin’s lighter, chalk white instead of its usual pale glow, and there are black lines snaking around her face and eyes like cracks. And her eyes…her eyes are the worst. They’re glowing, shining a brilliant, cold red.

* * *

 

Pyrrha looks at the four people standing in front of her. None of them seem any older than her, which is surprising, despite what Salem said; surely people trying to stop Salem help save the world would be a little older? Though, she’s helping Salem and she’s only seventeen. Probably. Around that, anyway.

They’re all looking at her with strange expressions on their faces, somewhere between surprise and shock and amazement and horror. She tilts her head, surprised, because there’s recognition in all of them, too. The dark-haired girl dressed in red looks halfway between excitement and confusion, but the excitement’s there because ‘oh my god it’s Pyrrha!’ and that in itself is the confusing thing.  

The other girl is wielding a very threatening-looking hammer, and Pyrrha realises that they are all very, _very_ heavily armed. Hammers, swords, weird pistol/sickle things, scythes at least as tall as her and several inches bigger than its owner. She looks at her shield and spear. She’s very fond of them, and has the feeling that they’ve got her out of some very tight spots over the years, but how are they supposed to go up against _this?_

It’s the blonde boy who speaks first.

“P-Pyrrha?”

His voice is quiet and scared, shaking slightly as he tries to meet her eyes. Pyrrha frowns. This doesn’t make sense. He sounds almost like the voice in her memories and she gasps as she’s hit with another wave of, _‘Pyrrha!’,_ of _‘Pyrrha, please, don’t do this!’,_ but then there’s also, _‘If you don’t get a date I’ll wear a dress’_ and _‘An Arc never goes back on his word,’_ and hundreds, thousands of other memories, each of them filled with a different meaning behind them, each of them incredibly important.

“Pyrrha,” says the dark-haired girl tentatively, “Pyrrha, what…happened to you?”

“I…I’m sorry,” Pyrrha chokes, because it’s all she can say in the wake of all these memories, all these emotions she’s never felt before. It’s overwhelming. “I…do I know you?”

“Pyrrha!” the other girl cries. “Pyrrha, it’s us!”

“I’m sorry,” Pyrrha says again, “I don’t…I don’t remember.”

“How,” whispers the blonde boy. “Pyrrha, how can you not remember us? We’re your friends!”

“I think,” says the final member of their team, in a calm, quiet voice that’s painfully familiar, “We should all give Pyrrha some space.”

“I…” Pyrrha can’t speak, can’t do anything, because this doesn’t make sense, Salem said everyone was dead, said they were betrayed, they were sacrificed for a plan that was never going to work, and these four were going to help it along. But they’re so _young,_ so _normal,_ so like her, and they’re looking at Pyrrha like they know her and it’s terrifying her because if they do that means she’s wrong, it means nothing’s how she thought it was, it means Salem _lied._

But what if it’s not Salem who’s lying but this lot? What if it’s a trick? What if she really doesn’t know them, they’re just familiar because they’re _like_ her friends but they’re _not_ her friends, and Salem was right all along. That makes sense, doesn’t it? Because why would Salem lie? She brought Pyrrha out of the nothing, she gave Pyrrha back her spear and shield, gave her a new purpose. Pyrrha was already dead. What would Salem have to gain by lying to her?

Pyrrha shakes her head like a dog trying to rid itself of water and stares at her opponents. The expressions on their faces are still sending shards of pain through her heart, like this is something _wrong,_ something unnatural, something she should just not be doing, but it’s too late. Pyrrha shuts off that part of her mind and focuses only on the fight.

She’s automatically classifying them into colours, compartmentalising them in her mind to make them easier to take on all at once. And then she’s off.

 _God,_ she’s missed this. It’s a fundamental part of her, she thinks, to fight. There are those for whom this means picking the nearest person on the street and shoving them to the ground, but Pyrrha's not like that. Ever since she was old enough to understand fighting, she’s known _why_ she needs to do it as well; to help, to protect those who can’t protect themselves. And if that means taking down a bunch of kids in a forest then so be it.

She goes for red first, zeroing in on it as the hardest target. Of course, the rest converge on her at once, pink and yellow and blackish-blue all trying to get her off the red girl, but they’re reluctant, and so is the one Pyrrha's picked out first, and that works against them. It’s like holding two conversations at once, this fight, attacking the small girl with the scythe at first and then, when she’s made space for herself, driving off the others. Attack – defend – attack – defend. It’s like a two-part harmony, and Pyrrha's the conductor.

She finds her gap when the red girl hesitates to block a blow from Pyrrha's spear, and she drives the advantage home, using her shield to fend off the girl’s scythe. There’s a moment, when Pyrrha looks into the girl’s eyes – silver, and so familiar – when she hesitates herself, but it’s a far briefer one than her opponent’s, and it isn’t enough to stop her spear from impaling itself through the girl’s heart.

The fight stops. There’s a gasp from one of the others and they fall back for a second, staring at the tiny body crumpled in front of them. Pyrrha looks at them, and they look at her, and the only emotion on their faces this time is clear, abject horror. She can feel the same jolt of memory running through her, but she quells it in favour of running at her next target.

It’s blueish-black this time, not red, and he’s skilled but weak and Pyrrha's relentless. The others converge on her, sword and hammer and bullets all trying to stop her, but there’s the thing; they’re aiming to incapacitate. And Pyrrha's aiming to kill.

She somersaults backwards, away from the tall boy with the strange weapon, aims and fires. He’s tired, not quick enough to dodge, and this one hits true as well. Miló always finds its mark.

The ginger girl with the hammer takes one look at her friend, falling in what seems like slow motion, and Pyrrha doesn’t think she’s ever seen an expression like that on a human being before. It makes her feel sick.

“Nora,” the boy whispers, before his face goes slack.

The girl _screams._ She screams and screams and screams, and they’re wordless cries of anguish because Pyrrha knows there are no words to describe this feeling. She herself feels guilt, somewhere, and it’s growing fast, but she does her best to kill that too. This is the right thing, she tells herself. It has to be.

The other girl’s running at her, fast and strong, and this is the hardest fight yet because Pyrrha's opponent is just so _angry._ There’ll be time for grief later on, if she survives this, but right now all the girl’s feeling is rage.

It’s still not enough. She ends up with Miló buried in her chest as well.

Pyrrha pulls her spear back into her hand and turns to face the last one.

“Pyrrha,” he says, and he’s crying. “Pyrrha, please, don’t _do_ this.”

The words are like an arrow to the heart. Pyrrha drops her weapon, hands shaking, because she’s _remembering_ , she’s remembering everything, she remembers Jaune and Nora and Ren and Ruby. She remembers Jaune turning up to the ball in that stupid dress for her, remembers Ren’s smoothies, Nora’s whispered encouragements whenever Jaune wasn’t looking, Ruby getting to the top of Ozpin’s tower just in time to see Pyrrha die…

She remembers it all.

Maple leaves fall at her feet. In the middle of a forest, Pyrrha Nikos falls to her knees and _screams._

**Author's Note:**

> so a lot of this is also kind of based in hazy headcanons that I have and can't really put into words that well but if you do want to ask about them or even just scream about rwby with me my tumblr is [phyrradise](http://phyrradise.tumblr.com/)


End file.
